The Pirate Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Miss Willis entered. When she’d left his cabin before, she’d been full of fire and fury, but now she seemed more subdued, even afraid. Strangely enough, he didn’t like that demeanor on her, and that made him speak more sharply than he should. “Well? What did the women decide?”

  She seemed not to hear his question. “As I was coming in, I saw that you’d taken prisoner one of the crewmen from the Chastity. What do you intend to do with him?”

  For some reason, her concern for a lowly English sailor irked him. “Make him walk the plank, of course.” When her horrified expression showed that she believed him, he added, “He’s joining my crew. That’s all.” Relief flooded her face, prompting him to ask, “Why do you care?”

  She dropped her gaze from his. “I wouldn’t like to see anyone from the Chastity harmed.”

  “How kind of you.” For a moment, he toyed with the idea that Miss Willis was the one Hargraves had sneaked aboard for. Then he dismissed it as an absurdity. British sailors knew better than to fall in love with women above their station. And a pretty woman like Miss Willis would certainly never be romantically interested in a scrawny thing like Peter Hargraves.

  In any case, that wasn’t why he’d called her here. “Have the women decided to accept my offer?”

  A change came over her as she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. The fear vanished, leaving behind a fierce determination that showed itself in the stubborn set of her mouth and the glint in her pretty brown eyes. “Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” He rose from behind the desk, rounding it to stand in front of her. “Remember, if they don’t want to take the week to choose, I’m simply going to let my men pick whom they want—”

  “No!” When he raised one eyebrow, she hastened to add, “I mean, they want to have the week, of course. It’s better than the alternative. But they have some questions. We have some questions. About how this will work.”

  He settled one hip on his desk, watching her intently. She looked flustered, and that was just how he wanted her to feel. The more flustered she was, the quicker they could settle all this, and he could get her out of his cabin.

  Why he wanted to get her out of his cabin, he preferred not to examine too closely. “Ask your questions, but be quick about it. I’ve got a ship to run.”

  As relief spread over her face, she tucked a tendril of hair up under her frilly cap and squared her shoulders. “Some of the women have children. Will the men who marry them take on the responsibility for their children as well?”

  “Of course. We’re not monsters, you know.”

  That brought a tiny frown to her face. Clearly she disagreed.

  “And what about the older women? We have several women past child-bearing age. If none of the men wish to marry them, would you choose them a husband who might not want them?”

  Confound her, he hadn’t considered that. But that could easily be corrected. “I’ll make an exception for the older women who can no longer bear children. If they find no man who will marry them, they are free to remain unmarried.”

  Her breath came out in a sudden whoosh. “So if a woman can find no man to marry her, she doesn’t have to marry.”

  “I didn’t say that.” The little witch was putting words in his mouth now. “The women of child-bearing age must still choose a husband, or one will be chosen for them.”

  With a sniff, she crossed her arms over her chest. He wondered if she had any idea how she looked standing in the center of his cabin. With that ridiculous cap and her demure dimity gown torn and dirty from the hurried transfer of the women to the Satyr, she reminded him of an urchin begging favors of a lord. Except he wasn’t a lord, and she was certainly no urchin.

  She proved that when she lifted her chin in a lofty expression of defiance. “Suppose a woman is too plain to attract a husband. Will you force some man to marry her just because you want to pair them all up?”

  Her words sparked his temper, as much because of her logic as because of her contempt for his plans. He stalked toward her, finding a grim satisfaction in the sudden wariness that leapt into her face. “My men have spent the last eight years at sea with only an occasional night in port to satisfy their need for female companionship. Your women could be horse-faced and snaggle-toothed, and my men would still want them, I assure you!”

  It wasn’t entirely true, but he’d had enough of her quibbling. She would follow his rules, if he had to lock her up to do it!

  She backed away from him, her cheeks pinkening. But even when she came up against the door to his cabin and saw she was trapped, she continued to plague him. “I hardly believe that your men would want a wife who’s—”

  “Enough!” He planted his hands against the oak door on either side of her shoulders, pinning her between them. “Your women have a week to choose husbands. When that week is over, I’ll do as I see fit with whoever’s left unwed, and nothing you say will change that!”

  “But you’re not thinking this through,” she protested earnestly, turning her pretty chin up another notch. “If you force people—”

  “Why are you being so stubborn? Are you worried you won’t find a husband? Is that it? Are you afraid that nobody’ll choose you?”

  The color drained from her face. “Why, you obnoxious, despicable—”

  “Because you needn’t worry about that. Plenty of men on this ship will find you attractive.”

  Before she could stop him, he tugged her mobcap loose, casting it aside on the floor. As she stared at him with wide eyes, her breath coming in quick, jerky gasps, he felt desire bolt through him, as sudden as a summer squall. Auburn strands of hair clung loosely to the bun she’d tortured them into, and her eyes were nearly the same color, a dark reddish-brown fringed with the longest, most delicate lashes he’d ever seen.

  By God, she was beautiful. Peach-tinged lips…a wide, white brow…and satiny skin with just enough freckles to hint at a mischievous nature. He hadn’t been this close to her before, hadn’t had a good look at that delectable face.

  He and his men had come across many English-women during their days of pirating. And though he’d kissed one or two to irk their stuffy husbands, he’d never wanted any of them. Not the way he suddenly wanted this one.

  That thought frightened the bejesus out of him. She wasn’t for him. Let one of his men take the little witch into his bed and suffer her temper and her lofty expectations.

  Yet that didn’t appeal to him either.

  He should push away from her now, but he couldn’t. Not until he’d seen a little more. In a trance, he removed her hairpins until her hair tumbled down in a twisted rope about her shoulders. He raked his fingers through the thick mass until the strands scattered over his fingers like threads of silk. Soft, so soft. How long had it been since he’d touched a woman’s hair like this? How long since he’d even been this close to a woman?

  He twirled one coppery lock around his finger, and that seemed to rouse her from her stunned silence.

  “Stop that,” she whispered, a troubled expression crossing her face.

  “Why?” He smoothed her hair down over one shoulder, thinking that she had the creamiest skin he’d ever seen, skin that was just begging to be touched.

  She gasped when he stroked one finger up along the curved contours of her neck. “It’s not…proper,” she said.

  That made him smile. “Proper? We crossed the line from proper to improper right after you left the Chastity. You’re on a pirate ship, remember? You’re alone in a cabin with a notorious pirate captain…you’ve lost your proper little cap…and I’m about to kiss you.”

  As soon as he’d said the words, he knew they were a mistake—and not because of the outrage that filled her face. It would be dangerous to kiss her. She wasn’t the woman for him.

  But he had to taste her once. Just a little taste.

  So before a protest could even leave her lips, he brought his mouth down on hers.

  Chapter 7

  Then shun, oh! sh
un that wretched state

  And all the fawning flatterers hate:

  Value yourselves, and men despise

  You must be proud if you’ll be wise.

  —MARY, LADY CHUDLEIGH

  ENGLISH POET, “TO THE LADIES”

  Sara was stunned into immobility. His lips, far too soft for a pirate’s, moved over hers with gentle persuasion. His breath mingled with hers, surprisingly sweet. Then he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she jerked back from him in shock. He’d kissed her! The…the scoundrel had actually had the audacity to kiss her!

  “What’s wrong, Lady Sara?” His voice was husky, his eyes dark and knowing. Lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he touched the pad of his thumb to her lower lip. “Haven’t you ever been kissed before?”

  A traitorous shiver rippled through her as he stroked her lip with his thumb. She tried to concentrate on being appalled by his actions, but it was hard to think when he was touching her. “Of course I…I’ve been kissed before.”

  He raised one eyebrow as if he didn’t believe her. “Whoever he was, he failed to convince you of your desirability.” His callused thumb traced the smaller curves of her upper lip. “Who was it? Some knock-kneed suitor barely out of the schoolroom? A foppish lordling?”

  He was laughing at her, the wretch! She shot him a withering glance. “It was an English cavalry officer, if you must know, and no fop at all.” She brought her hand up between them to shove him away.

  But he caught it and carried it to the back of his neck, holding it there as he looked down at her with gleaming eyes. “No fop perhaps, but not man enough to keep you in England. And not very adept at kissing, unless I miss my guess. Though perhaps you need more of a basis for comparison.”

  Before she could stop him, his mouth came down on hers once more, forceful, possessive, unyielding. This time there was no trace of gentleness in the lips that ravaged hers. He took her mouth as if it was his right, the way a pirate should. She grasped his hair, meaning to pull his head away from her, but at that moment the ship rolled, throwing him hard against her, plastering his taut thighs and lean belly against her so intimately she gasped.

  In that instant when her lips were parted, he thrust his tongue into her mouth. And to her immense horror, she found it…rather thrilling. Shockingly thrilling. She froze, letting him explore her mouth, and when he drove his tongue in and out in a strangely compelling rhythm, she forgot where she was…who she was. Instead of pulling his hair, she curled her fingers into the springy strands to clutch his head closer. Her eyelids drifted shut as he slanted his mouth over hers more firmly, taking possession of it the way he’d taken possession of the Chastity.

  Colonel Taylor’s kisses had been cautious, hesitant, as if he didn’t want to frighten his prey. Heaven help her, but she liked Captain Horn’s boldness. The heated strokes of his tongue…his fingers splayed in the small of her back, drawing her closer…closer…

  The kiss went on forever, growing more rough and more demanding the longer it continued. Then his hands began to roam down her hips and up her ribs in widening strokes until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast.

  Wrenching her mouth from his, she cried, “You mustn’t touch me like that! You mustn’t!”

  His breath came in ragged gasps as he stared down at her. “Why mustn’t I?”

  “Because it isn’t…it isn’t proper!”

  Amusement glinted in his eyes. He shoved back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead during their tumultuous kiss. “Don’t you ever do anything improper, Lady Sara?”

  Lady Sara. That was why he was doing this, wasn’t it? He wanted to humiliate her with kisses because her brother was an earl. It was as much a maneuvering tactic as Colonel Taylor’s kisses had been, and that realization sobered her. “I am not Lady Sara. There is no such creature.” She turned her face from his. “I’m Miss Willis, that’s all.”

  “No, not Miss Willis.” Clasping her chin, he forced her to look at him. “Miss Willis is too prudish a name for a woman with your passions.”

  “I don’t have passions!” she protested. “I don’t like—”

  The rest of her words were cut off when he kissed her again, hard and deep, with the force of a man too long at sea. His thumb stroked her throat, then came to rest against the pulse that quickened with each new foray of his tongue.

  She tried to fight him. Truly she did. Fisting her hands against his chest, she tried to thrust him away, but so feeble was her attempt that it had no effect at all. Grasping her wrists, he forced her hands down to his waist and pressed them there until her fingers opened and her hands flattened against him. Then he released her wrists, but only to pull her closer, melding his body to hers.

  All thought of moving…speaking…even breathing left her. There was only this man with his rough hands on her, making her feel like a woman instead of a reformer or an earl’s stepsister. He smelled of the sea and tasted of rum, a not unpleasant combination. His breathing, rapid and uneven, joined hers as he kissed her hungrily. This was something so beyond her experience that she let herself be swept up in it for the sheer enjoyment.

  Then he gripped her hips and forced her against his loins, so close she could feel the hard bulge beneath his breeches. Sara stiffened. Her mother had been forthright in telling her how men and women made love, so she knew that the hard bulge was evidence of his arousal. Good heavens, she mustn’t let him do this!

  With a strangled cry, she pushed him away, managing to squeeze from between him and the door before he could stop her. Her lips burned from the force of his kisses and her heart thundered, but she ignored both as she rushed to the other end of the room, safely behind his desk.

  Her cheeks glowed crimson as she watched him turn slowly to face her, his eyes glittering like twin shards of blue glass. She couldn’t believe she’d let that beast put his hands on her. It wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it!

  With a scowl, he stalked to the desk and leaned forward to plant his fists on it. A fearsome desire still glinted in his eyes, and his breath came heavy and hard. “You see, Sara, you do have passions. You can cling to your propriety all you want, but you and I both know you’re not so proper as you pretend.”

  “I’m more proper than you could ever be!”

  “Thank God for that,” he muttered.

  That he’d turned her insult into a compliment infuriated her. “Yes, you enjoy being a bully, don’t you? You enjoy lording it over women and children! You’re as bad as those English nobles you hate, who oppress their tenants and treat their women as chattel!”

  The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, for his eyes darkened to an icy slate as he cast her a look of utter disgust. “You know nothing about me! Nothing! When was the last time you experienced oppression, Lady Sara? When was the last time you had to scrabble and scrape for a piece of bread or endure the fists of a—”

  He broke off, thrusting himself away from the desk with his jaw clenched so tightly that the scar across his cheek whitened. He took a couple of deep breaths before he spoke again, his voice even but firm. “Your women and my men belong together. They understand each other. It’s only you who don’t understand, who can’t see that I’m offering those convicts more than they’d get anywhere else—a home and the chance to have a husband and a family. And yes, a choice—”

  “A choice? To be shackled now or later? What kind of choice is that?”

  “Enough of this quibbling! Do you accept my offer as it stands, one week for the women to choose husbands? Or must I do this the way I’d originally intended, by letting the men take whom they will to marry?”

  “What about—”

  “Yes or no, Sara. That’s how it is to be. If problems arise, I will take care of them with no help from you. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly.” It was easier for her to deal with him when he was angry than when he was kissing the life out of her. Angry men she could understand. “You’re a pe
tty tyrant, and what you say goes.” She sniffed. “Fine. We’ll take the week you offer. But don’t blame me if everything doesn’t go as well as you planned.”

  His eyes blazed. “Everything will go exactly as I planned, I assure you.”

  The devilish self-confidence in his voice was so…so irritating! He simply refused to accept that there might be holes in his plan. Well, let him sort it out at the end of the week. He’d soon see he couldn’t just pair people up as if they were cattle to be bred. And when everything fell apart, she would laugh—yes, laugh at him! Just see if she wouldn’t.

  Straightening her shoulders, she fixed him with a haughty glance. “May I go now, Captain Horn?”

  “Gideon. You’ll call me Gideon.”

  She couldn’t ignore the intimacy his statement suggested. “I won’t do any such thing. Just because you…you kissed me doesn’t mean that—”

  “That kiss was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” His eyes flashed, cold and impersonal as sapphires. “But we bloodthirsty pirates don’t stand on ceremony, so call me Gideon anyway.” He strode to the door, laying his hand on the doorknob. “Now you may go.”

  She didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved that he obviously despised kissing her. Of course I’m relieved, she told herself. I don’t want that scoundrel’s hands on me again.

  “Well?” He opened the door as if to prod her out of it.

  Gathering all her dignity about her, she rounded the desk and started toward the door. Her cap lay on the floor a few feet away and she stopped to pick it up.

  “Leave it there,” he ordered in harsh tones. “You look better with your hair down. Don’t put it up again.” When she gaped at him, wondering at his sudden interest in her hair after he’d seemed to want to be rid of her as quickly as possible, he added, “You’ll have a better chance at catching a good husband with your hair down, Sara.”

  Her female vanity was stung by his implication that no man would look at her twice otherwise. Snatching the cap up, she began to hunt for the hairpins scattered across the floor, but he left the door and advanced on her with a muttered curse.